


This Aching Soul, Forever Wild

by vilupe



Series: That Sugar Spun, Over the Moon Sort of Love (Clemma Oneshots) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/F, Femslash, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vilupe/pseuds/vilupe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What mattered was that they met, years after separating from the hunter and his angel and their ramshackle life in a little ramshackle house. Years after pasting smiles on their faces and pretending to be a family for a broken man who cared too much to put down a monster and a fallen angel with just enough guilt to make amends to a former shell of a girl.</p><p>-<br/>Emma Winchester and Claire Novak meet up after four years apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Aching Soul, Forever Wild

**Author's Note:**

  * For [8sword](https://archiveofourown.org/users/8sword/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Pot and Kettle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/782393) by [8sword](https://archiveofourown.org/users/8sword/pseuds/8sword). 



> This would never have been written without the lovely influence of 8sword. I'm sorry for taking your girls and making them both older and bitter. To Femslash Fridays.
> 
> All you really need to know to get this fic is that due to various circumstances Emma and Claire get adopted by Dean and Cas (who are together) and spend the majority of their adolescence growing up together before leaving and going their own way once they reached adulthood.

It didn’t matter how they met. It was a look over the rim of a whiskey glass, the clattering clunk, clunk of pool balls striking and parting in perpetuity, the rough growl of the disenchanted barkeep, boring circles into the sticky lacquered wood with his dirty rag. It was meetings upon meetings across thiry, forty, fifty bars, littered in the backwoods of bumfuck towns. A bitter taste of homegrown Americana at its finest.

 

What mattered was that they met, years after separating from the hunter and his angel and their ramshackle life in a little ramshackle house. Years after pasting smiles on their faces and pretending to be a family for a broken man who cared too much to put down a monster and a fallen angel with just enough guilt to make amends to a former shell of a girl.

 

Emma whistled, low and smooth and all Winchester, because those years? Those years have been kind.

 

Claire strolled in a half passed ten. The hitching hem of her too short skirt attracted wandering eyes from every corner of the room. On her face a mockery of a smile, too much force and not enough seduction from the pretty little Christian girl that could never run far enough to really embrace the type of hedonism this life spawned. Emma smiled, slow and easy, and leaned over her mark, knowing that the pink cavern of her mouth was just enough temptation to keep his eyes away from the blonde.

 

She sat across the bar from them, irritation rolling off her shoulders in waves. Her glare was a potent heavy thing as she watched Emma work over the poor sonovabitch. It was really sad when the fuckers Chrissy sent her way didn’t even know they were monsters. At the corner of her eye she saw Claire whisper something to the bartender, he chuckled, and suddenly there was a drink in front of the mark courtesy of the young lady across the way. Emma narrowed her eyes, Claire should know better.

 

Her instincts reared up hot and ugly, teeth pinching on the tip of her tongue. Really, really, Claire should know, one does not play with another’s prey.   

 

She stole him back with a hand on his thigh and the hungry, haunted look he sent her way told her just about all she needed to know. Claire’s presence, like always, was impossible to ignore but right now the adrenaline pumping through her veins was giving her a little tunnel vision. Her skin itched with the need to fight and take but she held it in because living with Dean Winchester taught her restraint and the necessary skill of blending in for your own good. Monsters had to be careful in this world. Sometimes the thing that went bump in the night wasn’t a thing at all, and sometimes it was after them.

 

At times even her hard won restraint failed her. The mark, Steven—graduate with a miserable set of circumstances and even worse luck, could sense her otherness. His nostrils flared, scenting, and even if he had no idea what he was sitting next to, his hindbrain could sense another predator. She watched his eyes constrict into tiny pinpricks and was briefly unnerved. She wasn’t new or green or anything like that but she had never dealt with a werewolf before.

 

She knew enough to see that she needed to act fast. His labored breaths and gnashing teeth were signs of an impending shift. If they were still in the bar when that happened, then there would be needless bloodshed and people could get hurt. That wouldn’t bode very well for her because in this line of business when you were half a legend and half a freak of nature you were only given so many chances until your drinking buddies turned into your executioners.

 

Schooling her features into a soft, fluttering glance, she led him by the hand to the back of the bar. Let herself be pushed further away from the safety of the floodlight on the back door and into the dark, dank crop of trees that surrounded the building. Her steady hands kept Steven away from pressing up against her, from encouraging the clumsy fondling and the rough handling that she avoided from her partners. He was making noises, confused choked off growls and groans. Emma looked up and there it was, gorgeously full and luminescent, peaking out of the cloud cover to say hello.

 

The moon spurred the shift and Steven’s body contorted. He sprouted sharp fangs and sharper teeth and the desperate look in his eyes turned feral and mean. Looking at him now she could finally see the thing that ripped out three people’s hearts and scarffed them down like Pooh Bear in a honey farm.

 

He lunged at her, claws out snarling. She dodged, an elbow in his back sending him stumbling into the tree line and disorienting him. Emma ducked down to reach the sliver blade tucked into her boot. The sound of his shuffling had her spinning the blade in her fingers, light and loose and ready to plunge into the flesh underneath his ribs. His chuffing breath was hot against the back of her neck and she quickly spun, thrusting forward and up.

 

The tip of her dagger sliced skin but he was faster than she anticipated and he managed to swipe at her, tearing through clothes and muscle. The rip and sting hurt like a motherfucker and Emma clenched her teeth, pushing him off and fighting through the pain. She didn’t expect him to be this strong. The moon a supernatural steroid pumping through his veins, giving him the power to drive down and tumble her into the ground, face up and panting.

 

Emma punched the fucker in the head, her dagger lost to her in their scuffle. Pinching into her chest were the five sharp points of his nails and she had a brief moment of panic because damn she knew better to underestimate an opponent but this was supposed to be easy. Rarely had she met a creature with the strength to land her on her back but that’s what happened when you do sloppy research and forget to factor in the effect of the moon’s pull. Emma wrinkled her nose because her brain was begin to sound like Uncle Sam and just no. Not happening.

 

She moved her leg to knee him in the groin but without to leverage to add a lot of force to it all she ended up doing was really pissing him off. Teeth at her throat, she was scared for the first time in years. Since the time she was homeless, hungry, and cold. On the run and at the mercy of bottle green eyes, more care worn and judging than they had any right to be.

 

A gun cracked loudly into the night. The pop, pop of bullets flying into the werewolf above her saving her from a gruesome makeover.  Claire kicked him off, kneed him in the stomach and sat the cool metal of her silver beretta between his eyebrows. Her eyes were cold and blank as they looked down into the feral eyes of the monster that was once Steven. A third crack reverberated into the night and she winced at the mess of blood that splattered onto Claire’s clothes. It was brutal and Emma didn’t want to know the thoughts going on in Claire’s head right now. She didn’t want to know what Dean and Cas’s perfect princess thought about killing a creature like her.

 

“I think cujo’s dead,” she muttered, rolling forward and springing up out of the damp leaves she was lying on.

 

Claire stood up stiffly and turned to her. Her hair glowed in the moonlight, a cascade of shimmering white blonde tresses that left Emma stunned and breathless. But none of that was quite as captivating as the pure anger in her eyes. “Are you a fucking idiot?” she asked, lashing out to punch Emma in the boob. “Coming out here without backup? What would Dean do if he found out his dumbass of a daughter was running around with a death wish?”

 

Emma backed away, clutching her boob because seriously what the fuck? Clearly, Claire had some aggression issues. “He’d probably be relieved,” she snarled.

 

They looked at each other in the dim moonlight, sizing each other up. Emma shivered, unable to look away. Claire was still beautiful. Still intense and dangerous and about as human as a bottled storm, angry and rolling. Her body felt like she just stuffed her fingers into an electrical socket and this was too much. She left Claire and her stupid feelings and that stupid life where she was never quite good enough behind to actually do some good for people and Claire had no right to come and fuck her up like this.

 

She moved to step walk away but before she could turn around Claire was there, in her space and curling long, tapered fingers around her arm. Her breath was moist and hot on her chilled cheek.

 

“You’re hurt,” she said, her eyes clear and sincere. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Leading the way around the bar, Claire tugged her in the direction of the small parking lot.

 

“I don’t need your help,” Emma protested but still she followed like a lost puppy.

 

Claire glanced over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “I know you don’t but I’m giving it to you anyway because knowing you, you’d let that cut heal over with dirt and muck in there and then end up getting gangrene or staph,” she said. “At least give me some peace of mind and let me patch you up.”

 

Emma wrinkled her nose. She was pretty sure that somewhere in there Claire just insinuated that Emma couldn’t take care of herself. Opening her mouth, she was about to comment when the sight of the car Claire was leading her to stopped her in her tracks. “A prius, Claire?”

 

She shrugged. “It’s fuel efficient and better for the environment that some muscle car,” Claire said before slipping into the driver’s seat and pushing the on button to start it.

 

Emma scrambled after her, sneering the car’s dash. “A Winchester’s inside of a car that runs on batteries. Dean is probably dying of shame right now without knowing why.”

 

“You’d be surprised. About two years ago, Cas wanted a hybrid to replace that old starter car Dean had him driving to work,” she said, smiling softly at nothing in particular.

 

“Yeah?” Emma asked, for a lack of anything else to say. She thought Claire had cut all ties from them too but that’s not what it sounded like. A sudden and indescribable longing lodged itself in her throat and damn the shoddy parking lot lighting for making her eyes water.  

 

Claire was watching her, eyes steady and knowing. “Hey, so you got a place you’re staying at or—?”

 

Emma laughed, and watched as Claire’s eyes widened at the sound of her annoyingly girlish snorting. “I sure do. _The Blue Velvet._ It’s real classy.”

 

*

The Blue Velvet was far from classy. The room was smallish, painted blue, with white and blue china patterned lampshades trimmed in blue velvet. The same white and blue pattern was carried throughout the room, from the quilt to the lone stained armchair against the wall. Even the bed’s giant headboard was decked out in fading blue velvet upholstery. On the window there were curtains, heavy, indigo monstrosities that tinged anything that wasn’t already blue in the room an anemic bluish gray.

 

Claire took one look at it and smirked. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special,” she drawled. Following Emma into the room and setting down the massive first aid kit on the dark wooden breakfast table.

 

Emma snorted and said “What can I say? We Winchesters have discerning taste.”

 

After flicking on the light, she moved around Claire to the bed. Shucking off her shirt and throwing it onto the floral quilt, she looked at the gash on her shoulder for the first time. It was red and sore, the gaping wound leaking blood sluggishly down her arm. But all in all it was more painful than it was serious, like a paper cut from Satan. Then again her dads knew Satan and, if you over the looked human genocide thing, he sound sounded like a pretty chill guy.

 

She sat down on the edge and when she looked up Claire was watching her. She licked her lips, her eyes flicking away and back again to Emma’s body, her cheeks flushing in the shitty lighting, before they settled on Emma’s, dark with some unfathomable intent. Emma shifted self-consciously and swallowed the sudden excess moisture in her mouth as Claire coughed, clearing her throat.

 

  
Emma pointed to the items clutched in Claire’s hands. “Um, so are you going to just stand there or,” her voice cracked, “patch me up? Because I’m pretty sure if blood get’s onto this quilt I won’t get my safety deposit back and uh I kind of need the gas money?” she said, her voice rising in pitch and then just tapering off embarrassingly.

 

“Shame,” Claire said. “It would be an improvement.” She moved closer, until the tips of her boots were a gentle pressure at the toe of Emma’s All-Stars. She placed the items on the bed to Emma’s left and leaned over her right shoulder. “It looks a lot better than it did at the bar,” she said, poking a finger along the edge of the torn skin. “I forgot that you have a little bit of accelerated healing.”

 

“Uhuh,” Emma whispered, distracted by the curtain of hair in front of her. Claire smelled the same. Holy crap, she must use the same scented shampoo because her hair smelled the same as it did four years ago and Emma just wanted to bury her face in it, it was so good. Claire’s heart beat was loud, her chest near pressing against Emma ear as she inspected the damage, and it was heady and terrifying to be so close to the source of the sound. She bit down on her lip, trying not to swallow again.

 

“Looks like you’ll just need a bandage,” she said. “Not that deep after all.” Claire leaned away for a second, rummaging for the gauze pads and the alcohol.

 

Emma nodded. Not trusting herself to not say something completely insulting or embarrassing. The sharp sting of alcohol on her tender flesh made her hiss, made her gums itch, and Claire soothed her with a steady hand clamped around the back of her neck.

 

“Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to?” She asked.

 

And even though Emma knew it was to distract her from the stinging pain of disinfectant and rubbing alcohol, she answered honestly, grateful for the interest and the opportunity to think about something other than the girl in front of her. “Well I started wanting to pick up where Dad left off, you know? Hunting things. But I don’t know— I liked helping people more than hunting. So that’s what I do.”

 

Claire furrowed her brow. “But tonight—”

 

“I still hunt, especially when Chrissy needs extra help. Or old Garth calls to give me a heads up on something in my direction. I’m just saying that it’s not all I do,” She looked at her shoes, avoiding Claire’s gaze. “It’s not my priority.”

 

There was some shuffling and the sound of paper tearing. Claire unwrapping the bandage pads. She hummed and said, “So Emma Winchester wanders around hustling pool and being the Good Samaritan.”

 

Emma blushed angrily. She wouldn’t be shamed for doing something she liked, not if it made other people’s lives better. She opened her mouth to say this but Claire could still read her well and interrupted before she could get the words out.

 

“It’s not a bad thing Emma,” Claire whispered, laying her hand flat against Emma’s newly taped bandage. Her lips curled into a careful smile, bright eyes half moons. “Cas, your Dad? They would be really proud of you.”

 

“I really miss them a lot,” Emma sighed. “Especially Cas’s ugly mug. I know that they’d be great, you know? If I wanted to go back they’d chew me out something fierce and then be warm and welcoming, the perfect fathers. But I just—” she choked up, words lost to her.

 

“Hey, no. I get it,” Claire said, smiling and trailing her fingers up over Emma’s neck and the curve of her jaw to brush unruly strands of golden brown hair behind her ears.  Those fingers lingered, delicately tracing the shell of Emma’s ears. Claire was practically cradling her face in her hands. Her eyes darting from Emma’s own to her gaping mouth.

 

“Yeah?” Emma whispered breathlessly. She could feel the heat of her blush underneath the soft press of Claire’s fingertips.

 

“Yeah.” Claire said.

 

And then Claire leaned down and kissed her.

 

Their lips touched, a gentle press of chapped, lush skin against smooth, soft skin. They caught and held, sharing the shuddering warmth of an exhale. Claire pulled back and Emma gasped. Hands scrambling to keep her there, bring her closer. Her fears were unfounded for as soon as Claire inhaled, shakey and jittery above her, she dove back in. Mouth open and wet, slotting over Emma’s with clear intent. Emma parted her lips wider, let Claire’s tongue lick along the inner ridge of her bottom lip before dipping inside to map and claim Emma’s mouth for her own.

 

Claire pushed forward and she reached behind her to pull herself back onto the bed. Mouths meeting again and again as Claire’s body stretched over Emma’s. Her weight felt extraordinary, pressing her into the mattress and molding itself around the contours of Emma’s body. Claire was sucking her bottom lip. Hands tugging Emma’s hair, pulling her head back and exposing her neck. Clever lips trailed fire down over her, biting at the corner of her mouth, the hinge of her jaw and the juncture of her neck. Every instinct she had told her to buck and fight for dominance but Claire’s hot tongue, soothing every bite and the dig of her small human teeth felt so good, so right, that Emma nearly strained herself to offer up more of her throat to Claire.

 

Emma’s slid a hand under Claire’s shirt. A hot palm against the rounded plush of Claire’s tummy. The press of her hands was rewarded by a low moan and another brief opened mouth kiss. As Claire, careful to avoid the bandage, continued to bite at the straps of Emma’s bra, to pull the fabric with her teeth and work on the claps with her hands, Emma scratched along Claire’s spine and up her stomach. She unhinged the front clasp on Claire’s bra and pulled with force at her button down, popping the buttons and letting it fall open. Claire stopped to get up and look at her, eyebrows raised and annoyed, and Emma couldn’t resist grinning in victory. She rolled her eyes and squeezed Emma’s boob, fingers digging hard into the round flesh, and it was Emma’s turn to moan weakly at the sensation.

 

They used the moment to strip each other, sneaking kisses and laughs as they tried to untangle themselves from their clothes as fast as possible. Finally, Claire threw Emma’s panties over the bed and pushed her flat onto her back. Emma reached her arms out to her and Claire followed the movement by straddling her, hair a gold waterfall around her shoulders, and then that was it. She stopped.

 

“Claire?” Emma asked, unsure whether or not she had done something wrong to make her stop.

 

Claire’s eyes were darkly roving over her. She breathed out softly, smoothing Emma’s eyebrows and curling the tips of Emma’s hair around her fingers. “I’ve missed you so much.  Wanted you so much. Like this,” she whispered, leaning down to lick at her left aerola and then blowing on it so that it wrinkled into a tight bud. “For so long,” she said.

 

Emma shivered, feeling more sensitive than she could ever remember being. She gripped Claire’s hips and tried to shift her so that she could rock against her. Claire barely even touched her, barely even set her mouth to her skin and her fingers to work and already Emma felt so wet. She just needed something, some type of friction, her hips making useless thrusts against empty air. Claire drew her nipple into her mouth, her hand reaching up to fondle Emma’s neglected boob. To pluck and twist and her other nipple until Emma wailed, “Please, please,” nails groping Claire’s tight ass  so hard there were sure to be red crescents carved into the skin.

 

Claire shifted above her, bracing herself with one hand and opening the space between their legs and seating herself onto Emma’s thigh. She dipped her fingers into the dark nest of curls at the apex. Without taking her mouth away from the firm, bounce of Emma’s boob, Claire spread the slickness from her core to her clit. Teasingly slipping inside and drawing out again to give gentle flicks against the engorged bundle of nerves. Emma pulled her up to kiss her, needing to do something with her mouth, and her sharp teeth felt amazing against the give of Claire’s lips.

 

She wrapped her arms around Claire’s shoulders. Emma tightened her grip enough to pull her down so that their boobs rubbed deliciously against each other. Tight nipples catching at each pass and making them gasp into each other’s mouths. Soundlessly she begged against Claire, lipping the words into her cheek and jaw. At the frantic press of her thigh against Claire, her vulva stretched open by the position so that each shift stroked Claire’s throbbing clit and labia, Claire gave in. She plunged her index and middle fingers into Emma’s ready heat, working the heel of her hand over her clit. Emma writhed, shifting her hips for more. She wanted to be filled by Claire. For Claire to work into her and take her apart.

 

Claire was perfect. She kept the pressure steady as she rubbed and fingered Emma. Soon she was close. Her thighs trembled with the sensation that wracked her body and she was near sobbing with the need for release. Claire shifted her hand. Moved her thumb to circle Emma’s clit again and again, the hard pressure and sudden change from the up and down motion of her wrist exactly what Emma needed to shatter.

 

Emma whimpered and Claire didn’t let up, extending the orgasm until Emma was limp and weak on the sweat soaked quilt. She breathed out, shivery and overwhelmed. Dazed until a soft “Emma-jemma” and Claire’s hot tongue on her boob spurned her into action.

 

She used her strength to flip them, startling a whoosh of air out of Claire, and slithered down the bed until she was resting belly down between Claire’s legs. Looking up she caught Claire’s lust-fogged eyes and smirked at the sudden look of realization. Claire moaned and slid her legs over Emma’s shoulders. She paused momentarily and when Emma realized it was because of the scratch she smiled, assuring Claire that it was more than okay, her biology reducing it to a slight discomfort. Claire shifted closer, widening her legs wantonly and pulling Emma into position. The glistening, pink flesh in front of her was more than enough invitation and Emma dove in.

 

She started with soft kittenish licks that had Claire knocking her heels against her back, urging her on. The salty flavor was addicting and Emma wanted more. Thrusting her tongue into the source, she ate Claire out. Giving her firm even pressure and hard flicks of her tongue against her vaginal walls. Claire bucked and the idea that she could make someone with such control shake and buck with need gave her the biggest fucking head rush. She moaned and the vibrations made Claire buck again. Emma encouraged her, moaning and sucking at her clit, dipping her tongue into Claire again and again, until Claire was riding her face in earnest. Shaking with her thighs clamped tightly around Emma’s neck and shoulders. Emma leaned up to suck at her clit again. This time replacing her tongue with her fingers while she worked Claire over. And that was it. Claire was flying apart around her face, crying out in pleasure.

 

When she came down from the high, she pulled at Emma’s hair and forced her up. They smiled and got under the covers and tangled their legs together, lying on their sides and trading sleepy, lazy kisses until Claire was snoring softly into her collarbone and she was drifting off to join her.

 

In the stillness of the night she whispered, “I wanted you too.”

 

*

The morning after the greatest night in her life started by her waking up to an empty bed. Heart in her throat she shot up, legs tangling in the mess of sheets and quilts and falling to the floor in a clumsy, distressed heap.  A laugh startled her from the other side of the room and she peaked over the edge of the mattress to see Claire. She was dressed and fabulous, sitting on the ratty old armchair, breakfast in one hand and twirling the keys to her shiny hybrid in the other.

 

Emma blushed.

 

She smirked wickedly, “What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?”

 

“You and me?” Emma asked, wrapping the sheet around her and making her way to the blonde devil.

 

Claire reached out and pulled her into her lap, dropping the keys and the bag of food, arms snug around her waist. She shrugged, and failed so hard at being nonchalant that Emma couldn’t resist the goofy grin that broke out.

 

“You want to do some good. I want every demons’ head on a platter. Sounds perfect to me,” Claire said.

 

“It would,” Emma laughed, dropping light, teasing kisses on Claire’s lips and nose and eyelids.

 

Claire tightened her grip in response. “What do you say?” she asked.

 

“Alright. You and me.” 


End file.
